“Thank you,” I said softly.

“I think we both know I hardly did it to be charitable.”

My cheeks flushed as I remembered our bargain. He’d yet to cash in on that. It made me believe he didn’t want to. Or maybe he didn’t want me to know how charitable he could really be . . .

Nico had some emails to reply to, so while waiting I used my phone to look at wedding table arrangements on my mamma’s party planner’s website. Out of the options in stock, I narrowed it down to a short round vase with studded pearls around the edges, and a simple one that would sit on a piece of glass.

I sent the pictures to Mamma only to receive a text that said: They both look like something you’d find at one of those Goodwills.

The vases were simple and classic and me.

My mamma was loud, proud, and would want her wedding tables to show it. Which was exactly why I didn’t want to use what was already purchased for Adriana—my mother being the buyer. I tilted my head and regarded them once more, but still couldn’t decide.

Nico had been on the phone for a short time, and I could grow used to his deep timbre in the background, no matter if he was discussing “product,” which I was sure was what killed his mother.

Now, he was quiet as he responded to an email, or possibly wrote a report on the next man’s life he was going to ruin. I was going to marry this man. I’d never believed I was a woman who needed attention, but at that moment, I wanted his. Undivided, and as thrilling as it always was.

Nerves played beneath my skin, but I got to my feet and walked around his desk until I stood beside him. He flicked a gaze to me and then leaned back in his chair.

“I can’t decide on a centerpiece for the tables,” I told him.

“Show me.”

Instead of taking the phone from my hand, he pulled me onto his lap. My heart raced from the shock of it. His arm was firm around my waist, yet it felt like it was burning me more than balancing me. I steadied myself with a hand on his shoulder. He was so big and warm and hard. I pretended this position didn’t affect me at all, but in reality, it took me a moment to remember why I’d come over here.

I turned my head to look at him. My breath shallowed when I realized his lips were only inches from my own. His gaze was warm, seeing deeper beneath my skin with each second.

With his body pressed against mine, warming me from the inside out, the pull to lean in was a physical thing. A heavy tug, as if he were my center of gravity. I could taste his breath and feel his strong heartbeat.

I could jump the gap, just as I’d done in a rain drizzled car once before.

How easy it would be: to bury my fingers in his hair, to run my hand along his jawline, to meet my mouth with his.

I knew it would be the best kiss I’d ever had.

So I only showed him the vases instead.

“Simplicity is the ultimate sophistication.”

—Leonardo da Vinci

I HATED HIS CAR, HOW it was infinitely him. How I was suffocated in his space in a way I couldn’t find unpleasant.

I hated his car.

But I loved how he drove it.

How his hand fit the wheel, how he sat in the driver’s seat with an unpretentious confidence, and how he always drove the speed limit as if to maintain that gentlemanly façade.

It reminded me of the soft sound of fabric hitting the floor, the scrape of teeth on the nape of my neck, the tug of my hair.

My pulse drifted between my thighs, and I pressed my legs together.

I wasn’t usually a betting girl, but I would put all of my papà’s ill-gotten gains on the idea that this man fucked just like he drove. With complete control and confidence.

Nico remained silent as we drove uptown, streetlights flickering and fading across an unreadable expression. Earlier, he’d picked the simple vase and said, “Less is more,” and I had to agree with him.

After that, he’d hardly said a word to me. During his silence, I realized I liked his voice. I wanted to know what he would say. There were whole sentences in that head just waiting to be drawled, and I wanted every one of them. I couldn’t and wouldn’t analyze why.

The quiet, the pressure between my legs, they started to build until I had to break the tension.

“How fast does this thing go?” I asked.

His head tilted to the side, catching my gaze. He held it for a moment before turning back to the road. “Fast.”

I pulled my bottom lip between my teeth, trying to think of how to respond. What I came up with was, “How fast?”

He didn’t glance at me, but a small smile appeared.

“Show me.” It escaped my lips on a breath, quiet and suggestive.

“No.”

I raised a brow. “Why? Are you scared?”

He flicked a gaze to me. Darkness glinted behind an ounce of amusement. “Scared and reckless are two different things.”

I didn’t know why considering it didn’t help my case, but it was a relief he’d said that. I had a rash brother—I didn’t want a similar husband. However, I wasn’t ready to give up yet; his attention had sparked a thrill inside of me.

“Are you saying you’ve never shown off with a woman in the car before?”

“That’s not what I said.”

“So, you have?”

“When I was sixteen, probably.”

That was a long time ago, yet I couldn’t stop a sliver of envy from finding its way to me. What girl was important enough to him that he’d shown off to impress her? I shook it off. “I’m marrying a Russo. Don’t you think I should know what it’s like before it’s too late?”

The glance he cast my way was nothing but heat. “It’s already too late.”

My pulse fluttered, but I forced a sigh. “It’s okay. If you’re scared—”

He shook his head before the car accelerated so fast I fell against my seat. A laugh escaped my lips, yet his only response was a look in my direction, a spark passing through his eyes. I watched the odometer hit 90 . . . 100 . . . 110.

Nico drove like he would if he were going a mere sixty mph: relaxed, not conveying an ounce of emotion. Adrenaline surged and fizzled through my veins. He hit 120 before he had to slow for our exit.

High on lust and life and speed, I rolled down my window and let the warm air brush my cheeks. We pulled into the driveway fifteen minutes later, and I couldn’t exactly say it felt like home yet, but something about it did feel right.

The adrenaline had faded to chugging along, like a train running out of fuel. It left a hot and cold sensation under my skin, nerves thriving in the atmosphere.

He turned the ignition off, and the soft pops and crackles of a hot engine filtered into the car through the open window. Hot urban air, silver moonlight, and a heavy tension settled in the space between us. My breaths were labored, each second feeling like a pregnant pause.

I was sure the truth was as clear as the sounds of the ball game escaping the neighbor’s window. That I wanted this man. Every time I was near him I lost all poise and control. What scared me the most was that I didn’t want control, I wanted him to have it all. I wanted to experience what I was sure a hundred other girls had, no matter that the thought made me burn with jealousy.